


kind of like hydrogen peroxide

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: lucky you’re the one i love [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 23:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20397616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Here was the problem: Ripper had no idea how to talk to Jenny without somehow managing to make her want to kill him.





	kind of like hydrogen peroxide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JackalopingIntoTheVoid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackalopingIntoTheVoid/gifts).

> i never can let go of this au.
> 
> as always, for jack!!! much love.

The one downside of no longer touring all the time was that money had to come from _somewhere, _which meant that Ripper had to get a job, which was fairly difficult when your only qualifications were from a magic-adjacent academy that no one was supposed to know about. But the magic shop downtown was hiring, and he impressed the owner enough with his knowledge of ancient grimoires that he managed to land a job sweeping the floors.

It was hard. It was _fucking hard, _being surrounded by the shit he had used to get out of his fucked-up head. But whenever he was tempted, he thought about Buffy, and her two clumsy, brave friends who had apparently been helping her with vampires to the best of their abilities, and how he needed to be at his _best _to make sure that those kids were all right. So he thought about them, and he turned away from the magics, and—he could be doing better, but he thought he was doing _relatively _all right, all things considered.

On the second day of work, he overheard a conversation up at the counter. This wasn’t uncommon; Ripper had developed a habit of listening in and giggling at the novice mistakes that buyers were making. Who tried to purchase dragon embryos for a sleeping draught, _honestly, _and in a tiny little magic shop like this one to boot? But _this _conversation was different, because—

“Janna!” said Miss Heather, sounding positively delighted. “It’s always a treat to see you in here! How’s your Auntie Stacia?”

“Um, fine?” came Jenny’s voice—_oh, holy fuck, _Ripper thought, and hid behind a shelf. “Mostly okay? I haven’t—um, we haven’t really been in touch.”

“Well, when you _are—_” There was a rustle, and something was placed on the counter. “Send this in her direction. She really is an incredible mind with _incredible _magical talents—”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Jenny, in the flat, cool voice that Ripper always used when someone was fawning over his dad. “Honestly, I’m just here to pick up some extra tea leaves.”

“For divining?”

“For _tea,_” said Jenny. Ripper had to stifle a giggle, but _then _she said, “You know technopaganism is more my style, Miss Heather.”

_That brown-eyed technopagan, _said Ripper’s brain; he told it to _shut the fuck up. _No new songs were being written about Jenny at _any _point in time, especially not after that confrontation. About _Janna, _he corrected himself, and found himself somewhat intrigued by the fact that _she _had two names too. Which one was given and which one was chosen, he wondered?

“If you don’t mind,” Jenny was saying, “I’d like to check out some of your new books?”

It was at that moment that Ripper realized that he had been hiding in the area where Miss Heather shelved all the books. But it was in the back, and there was _no _way to get out without alerting Jenny to his presence—

Jenny rounded the corner and saw him. Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Oh,” she said. “Music boy. So tell me, you gonna write a song about me buying tea leaves?”

“I was thinking technopaganism, actually,” said Ripper, and wanted to punch himself in the face.

“God, you’re an asshole,” said Jenny. “Move. I need to look at the books.”

“Should you even _be _here, _Janna?” _said Ripper. “Might scare off the customers.”

Jenny considered this, kicked him very hard in the shin, and left.

“Janna, are you—” Miss Heather rounded the corner, saw a doubled-over Ripper, and made a reproving clucking noise with her tongue. “That girl really does have a temper,” she said. “I’m not surprised that you rubbed her the wrong way.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Ripper thought.

* * *

Here was the problem: Ripper had no idea how to talk to Jenny without somehow managing to make her want to kill him. He _tried, _he really did, but some vital part of his brain always seemed to shut down around her, and his default mechanism when his mind was blank was to revert to some childish insult in an attempt to make her laugh. When he’d hung with Ethan and the gang, a childish insult would only ever make people laugh; if you _really _wanted to make someone mad, you’d punch them. End of story. But Jenny didn’t seem to work like that, and somehow it made him like her more, which made his mind go blank, which made him somehow end up insulting her again. It was a vicious cycle that he had no idea how to bring himself out of, especially when explaining it to her would probably just make her think he was an idiot. Which he _was, _but he didn’t really want her to know that.

For some reason, though, she _still _attended all of his shows, and he had no idea why.

“Wretched was pretty good last night,” she said conversationally, poking the straw into her juice box and taking a long sip. “Their new stuff’s been getting less, uh, screamy. That’s probably a good sign.”

“I don’t know,” said Buffy. “It was loud. I had a lot of trouble with my French homework.”

“Why were you doing your French homework at the Bronze?” said Willow a little reprovingly. “Shouldn’t you have been studying at home?”

_“Ugh,” _said Buffy. “Between homework and patrol, I barely have _any _time to party! And I can’t exactly go around staking people at the Bronze, so _something _has to give.”

_“Ripper,” _said Willow plaintively.

“Huh?” said Ripper, who had been alternating between scribbling down lyrics for _Brown-Eyed Technopagan _and making sure Jenny couldn’t see what he was writing.

“Ripper,” said Willow, “you’re an adult! Tell her she needs to study!”

Ripper felt a strange twinge. The thought of _him _giving anyone advice seemed like a really fucking bad one, especially given how historically terrible he was at making good choices. “Seems a bit hypocritical of me,” he said awkwardly. “Never studied much myself in high school, did I? Some idiot in a band can’t exactly go around telling other people to do what he didn’t.”

“Oh, c’mon,” scoffed Jenny. “Maybe your academic career went a different direction than anticipated, but you can_not _tell me that you’re not book-smart enough to get by! If Miss Heather hired you to help out in the magic shop, then that means you know _something, _‘cause there’s no way she’d hire anyone who doesn’t understand at least the magical basics. And that takes _years _of study.”

“Wait,” said Ripper, deeply bemused. “Are you…complimenting me just to start an argument?”

“Wh—that’s—I’m just _saying,_” Jenny persisted, a blush beginning, “that only a _total _idiot would call someone like you an idiot!”

“Kind of a paradox there, isn’t it?” said Ripper. “If I’m calling myself an idiot—”

“Oh my god, _who _is starting pointless arguments now?”

“—but you’re saying I’m _not _an idiot—”

“Talking to you is easily the most idiotic thing I do.”

“—then I’m an idiot _and _I’m a nerd—”

“Why are you two like this?” said Willow. “Buffy, why are they like this?”

“Sexual tension,” said Xander. _That _shut Ripper and Jenny up. “Speaking of, senior prom’s coming up, right? All the seniors in study hall were nonstop talking about how some Chris guy got dumped right before his big prom-posal.”

“Yeah, that’s probably Christopher Nelson,” said Jenny, and went visibly pink. “He was gonna go with his girlfriend, but he says that Layla’s kind of a flake about these things.”

“Oooh, _Jenny,_” said Buffy, elbowing Jenny playfully, “does somebody have a _crush?”_

_“Please!” _scoffed Jenny, her blush deepening. “As if I’d have a crush on the captain of the debate team!”

“Aren’t you, like, his co-captain?” countered Buffy.

“Stop talking about senior prom before I throw up,” said Ripper abruptly. It came out snarkier than he’d intended; he genuinely _had_ begun to feel a little nauseous after Jenny's crush had been mentioned. Probably something he’d eaten. God, he hoped it was something he’d eaten. “You don’t seriously buy into that garbage, do you, Jenny?”

Jenny’s mouth went tight and she didn’t say anything.

“Oh, _Ripper,” _said Willow reprovingly. “I think it’s romantic!”

“As though there’s anything romantic about _this _place,” said Ripper, gesturing around the school cafeteria. There was a wad of gum stuck to the table near Buffy’s box lunch, some kind of unidentified spill a few feet away from Xander’s chair, and an overturned lunch tray on the table next to them, dripping baked beans onto the floor. “Don’t see how senior prom’s gonna be all that magical, unless there’s someone you’re waiting for an invitation from.”

Jenny gave him a withering look. “Just because you don’t have a single romantic bone in your body doesn’t mean that I can’t have some actual fun in high school,” she said coolly.

“Who’s saying I’m not romantic?” objected Ripper.

“Ripper,” said Jenny, “do you want to go to senior prom with me?”

The question threw Ripper for a loop. _Did _he want to go to senior prom with Jenny? Go to a poorly decorated gymnasium, tie a corsage around Jenny’s slender wrist, dance _with _her instead of watching her dance from the stage at the Bronze? She’d shown them all a picture of her dress—a simple, shimmery, bluish-purple number with elbow-length sleeves and a long skirt. He knew a place with flowers just like that. He could—

“Thought so,” said Jenny with satisfaction, mistaking his stunned silence for a dismissal. “Seriously. Least romantic person ever.”

* * *

The moment rattled around in Ripper’s head long after he’d left Sunnydale High for his afternoon shift at the Magic Box, staying with him while he filed away manuscripts and restocked the herb jars. She’d asked him as one of her usual barbed jokes, he knew, but what if he’d said yes? What would she have done then? For that matter, what would _he _have done then? He was nowhere near prepared for any kind of relationship. He was a fucking mess.

One night didn’t mean a relationship.

But one night with Jenny—Jenny, and her smile, and the way she saw through his bullshit—Ripper knew how selfish, how stupid he was. He knew that one night with her would _never _be enough. One night, and maybe she stood on tiptoe and kissed him, and then it would be Ethan all over again. Ripper following her blindly because he didn’t know any better. Better that he stayed away.

That old craving was flaring up, stronger than usual, clawing at his throat until he had to clench his fists and focus on the way his nails dug into his palms. It helped, but not much. God, what kind of masochist _was _he, working in a fucking _magic shop?_

“You okay?”

Ripper turned, eyes wide. Jenny was standing on the other side of the counter. _“What,” _he said, trying to make it sound as tough as usual. Except—_fuck, _it came out a _sob. _Was he _crying? _And in front of _Jenny? _Jesus Christ, she’d never let him hear the end of it—

“Are you okay?” said Jenny again. Her jaw was set, and she still had that look of stubborn anger in her eyes, but she wasn’t moving away.

Ripper swallowed, and said, “Uh, not—not really. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Jenny swung up and over the counter—_that’s illegal, _thought the part of Ripper’s brain that was still a Magic Box employee—and leaned back against the wall, looking up at him with an entirely unreadable expression. “What’s going on?”

Ripper kind of didn’t want to answer that.

“Ripper, seriously,” said Jenny, and stepped forward, placing an awkward hand on his elbow. Ripper let out a soft, shaking breath. “It’s not good to bottle this shit up, okay? I speak from experience.” She cracked a small smile. “C’mon. Talk to me. I’m trying to be a good friend here.”

“_Are _we friends?” said Ripper. “I kind of thought you hated me.”

Jenny bit her lip. “You’re kind of an asshole,” she said, “but I think your heart’s in the right place sometimes. So—I don’t know. Yeah. Sure. We’re friends.”

Ripper really wanted to hug her, but he felt like that would probably be really weird. Jenny didn’t seem like much of a hugger. Besides which, he already looked _majorly _ridiculous, crying in front of her like he was. “D’you wanna go get boba?” he said.

“Uh, sure,” said Jenny, giving him an awkward, grateful smile. “Let’s go. I’ll pay.”

“Not a bad first date,” said Ripper, grinning. “I really _am _romantic.”

“God, you’re the worst,” said Jenny, and her hand moved to take his, their fingers lacing together. Ripper’s stomach did a terrifying loop-the-loop as she led him out of the Magic Box. “So wait, you’re talking about the place a few doors down, right?”

“Yeah,” said Ripper stupidly, unable to think past _jesus christ she is holding my hand._

Jenny tugged them a little farther down the street, leading them into the tea shop. “Go sit down,” she said, letting go of his hand. Ripper obliged, watching her head over and order their tea with the vague feeling that he had lost all control of this situation. He didn’t mind too much, though. Losing control with Jenny felt…different…then losing control around Ethan. For all her prickly bravado, Jenny could be strangely gentle about things.

She came over with two plastic cups, and slid one across the table to Ripper. After taking a long sip through her straw, Jenny leveled him with a Look, then said, “Spill. Why were you crying?”

“Well, I didn’t know I _was _crying,” said Ripper evasively. “So I don’t know if I can—”

_“Ripper,” _said Jenny.

“It’s Rupert,” said Ripper. “Actually.”

Jenny’s eyes widened, and for a moment, Ripper almost wanted to snatch the truth back. But then she smiled, and it was an _honest _smile, appreciative and gentle and oh god Ripper _liked _her. “Okay,” she said. “Rupert. What’s up?”

Ripper bit his lip, not really wanting to tell her. Nice as she was being right now, part of him felt like Jenny was only calling him her friend to keep him from crying more. She didn’t think all that much of him as it was—what the hell was she going to think when she knew the actual truth? “Not much,” he said awkwardly. “I got out of some fucked up shit pretty recently, s’all.”

Jenny whistled. “No kidding. Your songs used to be pretty fucked up themselves, but now…” She trailed off, giving him a small, tentative smile. “I like to think you sound at least a little happier, right?”

“I don’t know,” said Ripper. “I don’t—I mean, shit, when you came in, I was _this _close to losing control and casting a spell.”

“Losing control?” Jenny looked a little puzzled. “Magic’s not some kind of destructive force. At least, not unless you—” And then she stopped, and the last flicker of that smile disappeared from her face. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” said Ripper.

“Oh,” said Jenny again. And she reached across the table, and rested her hands over Ripper’s on the cup of bubble tea.

But Ripper didn’t entirely know how much Jenny had gathered. Not enough, clearly, if she was looking at him with that kind of compassion. “Don’t,” he said roughly. “Okay? I—you don’t know the half of it, Janna. I was a complete and total fuckup.”

“More so than now, you mean?” said Jenny. Her expression didn’t waver. “Look, Ripper, it kills me to admit this, but you obviously need to hear it: I kind of like you. Like I said, you’re dumb, and you’re impulsive, and you’re totally tactless—”

“_This _is what I need to hear?”

_“—but,” _said Jenny firmly, “when you put your mind to it, you can actually be…weirdly okay.”

“Jesus,” said Ripper. “Setting the bar pretty fuckin’ low there, then, if that’s all it takes for you to like me. I’ve been nothing but terrible whenever you’re around—”

“Ripper,” said Jenny. Her thumb rubbed circles into the side of his hand. “What the hell is going on? It’s not like you to be this much of a mess.”

Ripper swallowed. Then he said, “I, I did a spell.”

“Kinda figured.”

“Someone died.”

Jenny drew in a breath, and her hands tightened over his. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” said Ripper, voice quiet and hollow. “No. Alive, but…fucking hell, I don’t think I deserve to be after something like that.”

“What happened?” Jenny persisted. “Exactly what happened?”

Ripper closed his eyes, and began to speak.

* * *

Rupert Giles had always been someone to follow his heart. He had wanted his father to love him, and so he had taken on the mantle of Watcher when it was presented, recognizing that being a good Watcher might earn him his father’s grudging respect at the very _least. _He had met Ethan Rayne at a seedy little magic shop outside Oxford, and there had been something dangerously alluring about the other boy’s eyes, and so Rupert Giles had followed him without hesitation. It fit the pattern of his life.

When Ethan had asked his name, he’d said “Ripper” without hesitation. He had always been surprisingly good at lying on the spot, and he hadn’t wanted Ethan to look at him and see _Rupert, _failed scholar, disgraced Watcher. He hadn’t wanted Rupert to exist anymore. Ripper had been cool, and reckless, and didn’t care about what the Watchers’ Council would think about the spells he did or the power he channeled. Ripper had been interesting, and witty, and smart, and didn’t have to think about the lasting effects of magic or drugs or both. Ripper had been incredible.

Ripper had been the one to find Eyghon.

Ripper’s memories of Eyghon, now, were fractured and fragmented, blurred by the mixture of magic and drugs that had always accompanied a casting. It had been incredible, he remembered that much—but he also remembered Randall’s blood soaking into the floorboards, and Diedre screaming, and Ethan’s fingernails digging into his arms as he hissed _do something, Ripper, he’s dead, save us!_

The night after Randall’s death, Ripper had quit magic for good.

* * *

“I don’t know how the fuck I’m still alive, if we’re being honest,” said Ripper very quietly. “Those first two weeks, all I wanted to do was off myself, but—” He swallowed. “Seems like a disservice to Randall, doesn’t it?” he said. “Seems like the coward’s way out. I deserve to feel every second of guilt for what I did.”

Jenny didn’t say anything. Her face was very pale, her expression unreadable, and every second that she didn’t say anything, Ripper became more and more certain that telling her the truth had been a mistake. But then, without a word, she let go of his hands, reaching up to touch his cheek with trembling fingers.

“Fuck,” she said, and he could _hear _in her voice how close she was to crying. “Shit. How—god, how are you so _normal _about this? How are you even as remotely okay as you are? If something like that had happened to _me_—”

Ripper jerked himself away from her hand. He was shaking, and he knew that if he listened to her for any longer, he _might _let himself believe that this wasn’t his fault. “I can’t, I can’t talk about this anymore,” he said, and the last word came out a broken sob. “Please—”

Jenny sniffled, then swallowed, steadying herself with an impressive level of control. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. Then—can I tell you why I came to see you?”

“Sure,” said Ripper weakly.

“Christopher asked me to prom,” said Jenny, and gave Ripper a wobbly smile. “And it’s not—I mean, the person I’d _like _to go to prom with is totally out of the question, for a whole bunch of reasons, but Christopher’s…nice.” She blushed, softly. “He said that I was a triple threat.”

“Triple threat?”

“Pretty, smart, and a killer debater,” said Jenny. Something in her smile had steadied a little, and Ripper realized with a small jolt that she looked genuinely happy about this. “It’s just…really nice to have _something _in my life that’s kinda normal, you know? I get to go to prom and dance with a cute guy and have him tie a corsage around my wrist. I’ve never really had that before.”

Ripper didn’t feel like crying, exactly, but he did feel that same miserable nausea that had begun when Jenny had mentioned Christopher for the first time. He was glad that she was happy, _really _he was. That had to be enough.

“I hope you have the best prom ever,” he said hoarsely.

“God, you really are a mess if you’re being _nice _to me—” Jenny began teasingly.

“I always want to be nice to you,” said Ripper. “You’re fucking incredible, Janna. I’m just. Bad at everything.”

“Not _everything,_” said Jenny diplomatically. Ripper noticed, vaguely, that her blush had returned with a vengeance, though he couldn’t imagine why. “Just _most _things.” She smiled at him. “Listen, come to prom, okay? It might make you feel at least a little better. I could always sneak away from Christopher and listen to you criticize the music—”

“Prom’s not my thing,” said Ripper immediately.

Jenny looked almost sad. “Oh. Well, I just—I just wanted you to know you’ve got a friend.”

“Sure,” said Ripper, “thanks,” and went back to his tea, even though he now felt too sick and scrambled to really drink it.

* * *

Ripper went home and lay down in bed and thought about Jenny for a very long time. The way her fingers had traced his jaw, the way her cheeks colored when he complimented her, the gentle bite to her observations. She _was _a triple threat, he thought: pretty, smart, and _far _too good for him. Too good for anyone, really, but if he told Jenny that, she’d probably break his nose. God, he liked her so much.

* * *

The next day, when Ripper dropped by the cafeteria, Jenny was sitting with some annoyingly blond idiot’s arm round her shoulder. She looked a little bemused, but not displeased, especially when said blond idiot made a production of kissing her on the cheek and whispering something in her ear. She _giggled _in response. Ripper had never heard her giggle.

“Janna,” he said, sitting down across from them both.

“Is that your nickname?” said Annoyingly Blond Idiot.

“No, he’s just a dick,” said Jenny, rolling her eyes at Ripper like yesterday’s discussion had never happened. Ripper felt a profound sense of relief. “Christopher, this is Ripper. Ripper, this is Christopher.”

_“Ripper,” _said Christopher The Idiot, an intrigued laugh in his voice. “Now _that’s _a nickname. How’d you get it?”

“Chose it,” said Ripper. “How’d you get that smarmy jacket of yours?”

“Try to be _less _of an asshole to my prom date,” said Jenny reprovingly.

Buffy and Willow swung over, lunch trays in hand. “Aww, don’t you two make the _cutest _couple?” Buffy cooed, beaming at Jenny and Christopher. “Absolutely sickening. Gives us single people hope, right Willow?”

“I _guess,_” said Willow, who had a strange look on her face. “Um, Ripper, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Anything that got Ripper away from that stupid Christopher and his stupid jacket and his stupid arm around Jenny’s shoulders was good by him. “Sure,” he said, and after Willow had set her lunch tray down, he let him lead her to a more secluded part of the cafeteria. “So what’s—”

“Look, I know you have a crush on Jenny,” said Willow, “and I know she has a crush on you, which is why you need to fix this before it goes bad. I think you’re the only person who can.”

_“What?” _sputtered Ripper. “That’s—you’re—I don’t—”

“Just save it,” said Willow, scarily firm. “Christopher was talking in the hall to his friend about his foolproof plan to make Layla jealous, because _apparently _he and his girlfriend never actually broke up. And apparently it’s working _so _well that Christopher’s planning to ask out Layla, _again, _as soon as lunch is over.”

Ripper stared blankly at Willow.

Willow let out a frustrated breath, then said, “Christopher is _using _Jenny to make another girl jealous, and he is going to _dump _her for that other girl _very soon!”_

Ripper took this in. “Huh,” he said. “Good to know.” He cracked his knuckles, rolled up his sleeves, and headed back towards the table.

Willow caught his arm when he was just about to round the corner and pummel Christopher into the dust. “_No, _Ripper!” she said, sounding a bit like she was training a puppy. Ripper resented that. He was a full-grown guard dog, thank you very much, and anyone over eighteen should _not _have to bend to the will of a tiny little fourteen-year-old clinging to their arm like a baby monkey. “That is _not _how you deal with this!”

“Enlighten me,” said Ripper through gritted teeth. Over and over in his head, he could hear Jenny saying _I’ve never really had that before. _He could see her shy, genuinely happy smile. Hell, he could see it right _now, _in front of him, brought to her face by that _idiot_—

“You have to ask her out,” said Willow, as though it was obvious. “She’ll totally throw over Christopher for you.”

“She won’t,” said Ripper. Even in a scenario where Jenny had feelings for him, she still had enough integrity not to ditch her first prom date at the drop of a hat. “The only fucking solution is me punching that arsehole’s fucking teeth in, Willow, so if you _don’t _mind—”

“Hey, Jenny, would you—would you give me a minute?” said Christopher from the table, eyes on a tall, redheaded girl very clearly pretending not to watch the both of them. “Thanks so much.” He leaned down, catching Jenny’s face in his hands, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. When he pulled away, Ripper could clearly see Jenny’s wide-eyed smile.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” said Ripper.

“Ripper, _please,_” begged Willow, “I _know _she’ll listen if you—”

Christopher crossed the cafeteria, making a production of walking past the redheaded girl. The girl caught his arm, and Ripper saw Jenny stiffen, smile freezing on her face. “Layla,” said Christopher. “You really missed your chance, huh?”

See, the thing Ripper liked about Jenny—and there were many things Ripper liked about Jenny, but this one was high up on the list—the thing Ripper liked about Jenny was how fast she could put two and two together. She’d figured out that his song was about her with only a handful of context clues, and before he’d even made it to the chorus, she’d been yanking him off the stage. But now Jenny’s eyes were on Christopher and Layla, on the way Layla’s hand rested on Christopher’s arm, on the badly-hidden smugness in Christopher’s smile, and Ripper _knew _that Jenny had figured it out.

Jenny’s smile flickered, and faded, and she ducked her head, looking down at her lunch tray.

Ripper’s ears were ringing.

“Seriously, Chris, this is low even for _you,” _Layla was saying. She sounded appropriately disgusted. At least _someone _in this equation had some fucking sense, Ripper thought. “You ask _another girl _to prom just to try and get my attention? I _told _you I’m not interested in going to prom, but that was not me telling you we’d _broken up! _Though I am _seriously _considering it right now!”

“Layla, I’m just saying, you gave me free rein to—”

“Jesus,” said Layla, and turned on her heel, hurrying over to Jenny. “Jenny, I am _so _sorry he got you involved in this—”

Jenny’s face crumpled and she started to cry—quietly, but still visibly. And as she hid her face in her hands, something in Ripper _snapped._

“Kick his _ass,_” said Willow, low and dangerous, and let go of his arm.

Ripper lunged.

There was a scream, and a clatter, and Ripper could hear the sound of _something _overturning as he threw Christopher to slam him down on the cafeteria linoleum. Christopher was screaming, a high-pitched, panicked sound, but Ripper had fought tougher things than him before—god, this wasn’t even _fun. _Ripper pulled Christopher up, pushing him against the wall, and punched him hard in the face—once, then twice. It felt like enough. He didn’t want to be excessive.

“You fucking moron,” he said. “She’s worth twelve of you.”

Christopher reeled, and collapsed.

Ripper couldn’t bring himself to look at Jenny, and was steeling himself for a speedy run out of the cafeteria when he was turned around, steadied, and _slapped _very hard. Staggering back, he saw that Jenny was facing him, tears still in her eyes. She crossed her arms, not saying anything, and then her face crumpled again.

“C’mon,” said Ripper quietly, and tugged at her hand until his fingers laced with hers. She followed him out of Sunnydale High.

* * *

Once they’d reached his car, gotten in, and driven to the park, Jenny cried for a good fifteen minutes. Ripper had the distinct sense that this wasn’t at all about Christopher, and when she finally raised her head, he was proven right.

“I just wanted to be _normal,_” she said, her voice breaking. “I just—I wanted some normal guy to ask me out. I wanted a normal fucking prom, a-and I don’t even get that! I’m new to this school, everyone already knows everyone, no one even really _likes _me and I just—”

“Breathe, Jen,” said Ripper, catching her hands in his.

“And you _punched _him!” Jenny wailed. “You’re so _stupid! _What the hell does _punching _him do to help _anyone?”_

“Makes me feel better,” said Ripper.

“Why do _you _care?” Jenny jerked one of her hands away from his, roughly wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her military jacket. “What the hell does it matter that—”

“He made you cry,” said Ripper.

Slowly, Jenny looked up at him. “What?”

Ripper swallowed, then said, “Look, it’s not—it’s not as stupid as it sounds, all right? It’s not just because _he made a lady cry _or some bollocks like that. I just—I know you don’t like crying on account of it makes you feel undignified, and I know you don’t cry all that much _anyway _‘cause I’ve never seen you cry before, a-and it just made me _angry. _You’re tough as nails, Janna. You don’t deserve to be made _so _upset that you can’t _help _crying.”

Jenny looked at him, lips parted, and for the first time in a _very _long time, Ripper had the distinct sense that he might have just done something extremely right. “Oh,” she said, quietly. Then, “I-I guess that’s kind of okay, then.”

“Good,” said Ripper.

“Yeah,” said Jenny.

A brief moment of silence.

“Rupert,” said Jenny, tentatively, and some part of Ripper _knew _what she was about to ask him. It was obvious, wasn’t it? He’d come in, the conquering hero, and punched out the idiot who had used Jenny for no good reason. He was the good guy—the clear candidate for Jenny’s new prom date. The bar was set too fucking low if _Ripper _was Jenny’s best option for a prom date.

“Let’s go get more boba,” said Ripper, cutting her off.

Jenny ducked her head, and he saw the disappointment in her eyes. He felt _awful. _“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, sure.”

She didn’t let go of his hand for the entire drive over, though. That was something.

* * *

Jenny was notoriously absent from Scooby meetings for a good few days after that. Disciplinary action against her or Ripper hadn’t been taken, largely because mysterious injuries happened a lot in Sunnydale High, and also because every eyewitness to the incident had strongly supported Christopher being punched in the face. At least, that was the way a _furiously _angry Willow told it to Ripper—and no one brought the issue up again once a quiet, miserable Jenny finally returned to their lunch table. It was clear she wanted to talk about it about as much as Ripper wanted to talk about Eyghon—which was to say, not at all.

* * *

The day before prom night, Jenny showed up at Ripper’s terrible apartment with a spellbook and a large rucksack, and said, “Rupert, I need you.”

“What?” said Ripper, who had had a few variations on this dream (minus, of course, the spellbook, the rucksack, and a few articles of clothing on both of their parts).

“For a spell,” Jenny clarified, going a little pink. “I need you to help me with a spell.”

“Jesus, Janna, do you _listen?” _said Ripper indignantly. “Did I not just _tell you _about my magic-related trauma and the fact that I don’t _ever _fucking intend to do magic again?”

“I’m not asking you to do magic!” Jenny sounded horrified at the concept. “I’m asking—” She swallowed. “Look, I’ve been feeling…so bad. Ever since what happened…happened. And it’s not just about Christopher, you know? I’ve—the one person I really want to go to prom with is clearly not into the concept, and then when I tried to settle for someone I _thought _was nice, it turned out that I picked the _worst _guy for that. I…” She trailed off, looking helplessly up at him. “I want to feel better,” she said. “I want to do a little healing ritual, for me. But I don’t know where to start, or how to do it, and I thought that consulting you might be a good idea.”

“Who’s the idiot who doesn’t want to go to prom with you?” said Ripper indignantly. “I can punch them too, you know.”

“Please don’t,” said Jenny, looking a mixture of sad and amused. “If you _really _want to help…” She trailed off, holding the spellbook out in front of him.

“You realize what you’re asking,” said Ripper quietly. “I don’t—I don’t know how well I can control myself around magic.”

“You can’t walk on eggshells for the rest of your life,” Jenny persisted, setting the spellbook down to step up towards him. “You can’t just _wait _to slip up and succumb to temptation. That kind of thing is a recipe for a scary bad relapse. You have to expose yourself to _some _magic, at _some _point, or it’ll just become more and more alluring with time.”

She was making some frustratingly good points. Ripper let out a defeated breath. “Fine,” he said. “Fine! But I’m not doing _any _actual magic.”

“I’d never ask you to,” said Jenny, meeting his eyes. “Never.”

There was something in her gaze—some intensity in her words—that settled something in Ripper’s chest. It frightened him, a bit. “All right,” he said awkwardly, looking away from her, then sitting down on the floor. “Where do we start?”

Jenny handed him the book. “Page twenty-seven,” she said.

Ripper flipped to the page in question. _A RITUAL TO CLEANSE THE SOUL OF IMPURITIES, _it read. “That sounds a little ominous,” he said doubtfully.

“I did my homework,” said Jenny, waving her hand. “Impurities just means place in the soul that are…you know how sometimes a cut gets infected? It’s kind of like hydrogen peroxide.”

“I read somewhere that hydrogen peroxide kills the good _and _the bad bacteria—”

“You know what I mean, you nerd,” said Jenny, leaning down to ruffle his hair. “It doesn’t take away the hurt, because the safe kind of magic can’t really do that, and the kind of magic you were into only allowed for short-term euphoria. But it cleans out the gunk, you know? The parts that hurt the _most. _It’s gonna hurt a little more for a moment, but then it’s going to heal. It’s going to be okay.”

She said it a little strangely, as though her words should mean something to him. Ripper wasn’t sure why. “If this helps you,” he said seriously, “I’m happy to do it, Janna. Really.”

Jenny gave him a small, lopsided smile, and sat down in front of him, opening the rucksack to pull out three tea candles. Carefully, she lit them, then said, “Okay, you make sure the candles keep burning while I read this.”

“Wait,” said Ripper suddenly, something occurring to him. “Magic doesn’t reach its full potency if the caster is also the one feeling the effects of the spell. The energy transfer is just circular. You don’t receive anything new.”

Jenny’s eyes met his. “Ripper, it’s fine—”

“No,” said Ripper, heart pounding. “No, you—you deserve better then your own leftover energy.” He took the book from her. “Close your eyes.”

“Rupert—”

“Close your eyes.”

“Rupert, I told you, I’m not asking you to—”

“I _know _you’re not asking, Janna,” said Ripper. “That’s why I’m offering. Close your eyes. I can cast this.”

God, he was scared. He was so scared that he’d try this and he’d slip up and he’d lose himself in magics again. Good magic, this was good magic, but what if Jenny was wrong? What if good magic and bad magic were all the same, at their core? That’s what Ethan had said—that good and bad were just two sides of the same coin, so why worry about the kind of magic you were casting? Jenny could be wrong. Ethan could be right.

Jenny closed her eyes, and Ripper saw that she was shaking. She was just as scared, he realized. Just as scared that something bad might happen to him. Scared, but she was still letting him try.

He had to repay her trust.

Ripper took out a small vial of water from the rucksack, spilled a drop or two onto his finger, and gently smeared the water in thin vertical stripes down Jenny’s cheeks. They looked almost like tears. “Let this water cleanse the aching soul,” he read, feeling a little ridiculous. Eyghon had been an immediate hit of magical energy; right now, he didn’t feel anything at all. “Let it be a—um, a balm upon the wounds left by time. Let it—”

And then he felt it. Soft, and small, and warm, like a flower blossoming in early spring. It reminded him of the way he felt when Jenny’s eyes met his, when Buffy landed a punch just right in training, when Xander laughed at his stupid jokes. _Home, _Ripper thought. _Magic._

“Let it heal her,” he said, very quietly, only half-looking at the spellbook. This magic was a magic that he could channel and trust. “Let it warm her, from top to toe, till she never feels cold again. Make her smile. Make her happy, happy to her bones.” He grinned, a bit. “Clean out the gunk.”

Jenny opened her eyes. There was a soft glow around her, but she didn’t seem to notice—she was too busy giving Ripper a wry grin. “Now _that’s _not in the spellbook,” she said. “Stay on script, dumbass.”

“All right,” said Ripper, and grinned back.

* * *

“So how’d yesterday’s spell go?”

Ripper looked up, startled, and shut the Magic Box’s inventory book. “What?”

“Well, Jenny mentioned yesterday that she wanted to help you out,” said Willow, handing Ripper one of the jars she’d been refilling with herbs. “She said, uh, something about Eyghon? And then she got all panicky, but I told her I already knew, so she calmed down a little bit. And _then _she told me that she was finding some kind of a spell to try and help you be less scared of magic, or something?”

Ripper played back their conversation from the day before. Jenny had never actually asked him to do the spell, but she _had _pushed him, gently, to stay in the room while _she _did it. The rest he had done on his own, and the genuine surprise on her face made him certain that she hadn’t expected him to take those extra steps.

Miserable as she was, she’d decided to use her misery to try and help _him._

“Jesus Christ,” said Ripper, and checked his watch. “Jesus fucking Christ. Willow, is she still going to prom?”

“I-I don’t know—”

_“Get her to that prom,” _said Ripper. “I need to go find a fucking _corsage.”_

* * *

He didn’t have enough time to rent a tuxedo, or even to get _into _a tuxedo—he spent pretty much the entire two hours before Jenny’s prom driving up and down the street in search of the perfect corsage. He gave up, in the end, opting instead to twist some daffodils and daisies into a haphazard little bracelet, and shoved it into a tiny makeup box helpfully donated by a delighted Buffy. Willow had promised to get Jenny to the prom, enlisting a bemused Xander to help, and Ripper had to trust that she would. He also had to trust that he wouldn’t be immediately accosted by Sunnydale High teachers upon re-entering the vicinity, but it was a risk worth taking for Jenny’s sake.

The gymnasium was not, in fact, poorly decorated. It was _concerningly _decorated. Whatever idiot had decided to fill the room with candles placed precariously upon flammable-looking tables, Ripper certainly wanted to meet them. He scanned the room, heart pounding, and—

And there was Jenny. Long hair tumbling down to her waist, a black ribbon choker with a blue gemstone tied around her neck, a few purple clips in her hair, and that long, shimmering, bluish-purplish _dress, _and god, all of a fucking sudden, Ripper _understood why everyone wanted to go to senior prom. _He’d go to a _thousand _senior proms if it meant getting to see Jenny look like that.

She hadn’t seen him just yet. She was standing by the buffet table, looking quietly miserable.

“Oi!” said Ripper, and wove through the crowd, almost afraid to look directly into her eyes. Without looking entirely at her, he shoved Buffy’s makeup box in her general direction.

“…what,” said Jenny.

“I couldn’t—” Ripper coughed, and looked nervously at her. “I couldn’t find a good corsage,” he said. “Thought I’d make you one.”

Jenny looked at him, then carefully opened the box.

“It’s a bit rubbish—”

Jenny held out her wrist.

“Oh,” said Ripper, a little breathless, and took the corsage out of the makeup box, setting the latter down on the buffet table. Carefully, he tied the corsage around Jenny’s wrist, then let his fingers stay there, looking tentatively up at her. “I’d have gotten you a better one if I could find it,” he said.

Jenny didn’t say anything. She smiled at him, soft and quiet, and stepped forward, standing on tiptoe to pull Ripper into a wordless, warm hug.

Ripper lost the ability for critical thought and buried his face in Jenny’s hair. She smelled floral and sweet—probably her shampoo, he thought stupidly—and when she tilted her head back up, her forehead brushed against his just a little bit. “D’you, um,” he swallowed, “wanna dance?”

“Yeah,” said Jenny. She was still smiling. Ripper had never seen her smile at _anyone _like that before. “I’d _really _like that. Does this make you my prom date?”

“If you’ll have me, then yeah,” said Ripper, smiling awkwardly in return. “I, uh, wasn’t quite quick enough to say yes, first time you asked me. I’ll be better at that next prom.”

“Rupert,” said Jenny. Now she sounded like she was trying not to laugh. _“There’s only one senior prom.”_

“Fuck,” said Ripper, “really?” He considered. “Jesus, now I wanna go punch Christopher again.”

“Oh, no, don’t!” But Jenny was laughing, twining her arms around his neck, and _god, _she had _never _looked at him like that before. Like he was _important _to her. “C’mon, dummy, _dance _with me! My senior prom is gonna be totally ruined if my prom date goes off to start a fight in the parking lot.”

“Says _you,” _said Ripper, tugging her onto the dance floor. It was a slow song, now, all the other couples closely entwined and swaying. “You’re used to fast songs, aren’t you? Think you can handle this?”

“Pfft,” said Jenny. “I _invented _slow dancing.” She didn’t rest her head on his chest, or bump her forehead against his—she just looked at him, with a steady smile, and Ripper smiled back. “You know, _most _people wear tuxes to prom.”

“It has already been established that I’m absolute shit at planning ahead,” said Ripper. “Do you _have _to give me grief for it?”

“Obviously.”

The song crooned on, and Jenny’s eyes stayed locked on his. And there was that feeling again: that soft, steady magic, welling up in him in a way that didn’t feel anywhere close to dangerous. Some things didn’t need to be shut out and locked away, Ripper thought. Some things were worth taking a little bit of a risk on.


End file.
